


A Simple Trip to Bree

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Frodo and Merry sneak a trip to Bree. Trouble ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Trip to Bree

Frodo put his elbows on the table and grinned. He would never outgrow the carefree feeling he got on fresh spring mornings like this—when the sun dappled the kitchen in a golden hue, before Bilbo went into his study to work on his writing, when the fresh smell of tea and bacon wafted through Bag End. Bilbo sat by the window and smoked his pipe. He glanced at Frodo.

"Finish your eggs, lad, and take your elbows off the table." Bilbo scolded, but there was a smile in his eyes. It was an ongoing joke between them. When Frodo had first come to live at Bag End, he had told Bilbo that in Brandy Hall his relatives had only really spoken to him when they wished to reprimand him for little things like elbows on the table, dirt under his nails, etc. Bilbo reached over and ruffled Frodo's dark curls. "Are you ready for your trip to Buckland?"

Frodo sipped his tea. He nodded, too excited to eat too much of his eggs.

"Merry and I are planning a camping trip in the woods near the Brandywine River."

"Oh, is that it, is it?" Bilbo said. "Which woods?"

"Not the Old Forest, no," Frodo said, as if anticipating his uncle's next question. "Just near the river."

"You're old enough to take care of yourself and that rascal of a Brandybuck cousin of yours. Have a care, though. Some of the Big Folk have been crossing the river."

"The Big Folk? Uncle, I've never seen one of the Big Folk."

Bilbo shook his head. "I hope when you encounter a Man for the first time, Frodo, that it's not one of the ruffians crawling around on the borders of the Shire. A lot of them are hiding from the law. They might see two young hobbits as an easy target."

"What would they do?" Frodo's eyes widened. He pictured giants with grim, fierce faces barreling through the woods in search of little hobbits to terrify.

"Why, I don't know for certain, lad," Bilbo said. "You would not want to find out. They may rob you or hurt you for sport...just have a care. If you hear or see any--and you can hear them a mile away clumping through the woods--don't you let your curious Baggins nature take over. You and Merry just hide and stay quiet until they pass."

"Do they look like Gandalf?"

Gandalf was the only non-hobbit that Frodo had met. He pictured Gandalf with his kind smile and huge but gentle hands.

"Perhaps as big as Gandalf, but some of the men out of Bree are a nasty lot. Fighting and robbing and bullying. Nice hobbits from the Shire don't go to Bree anymore. Even the hobbits in Bree are right queer, in my opinion, and that’s speaking from a traveler like myself."

Frodo put his elbows back on the table, his blue eyes sparkling as he imagined encountering one of the monsters out of Bree that his uncle was describing. If he encountered one of them, he would be brave. He would save his young cousin. He would find a large stick and whack the man on the knees. After the man keeled over, completely helpless, Frodo would then tie him up. The law who was after the man would reward the two hobbits for their bravery. The reward? A trip to see the elves in Rivendell. He could imagine the look of pride on Bilbo’s face when he heard of Frodo’s deed. He pictured the relatives of Brandy Hall, who had ignored him and scorned him. They would at last think he was worth something.

“Lad, where did your mind go?”

“Oh, I am sorry, Uncle.” Frodo smiled, bringing his half-full plate to the counter. “I am not hungry, I suppose.”

“Not natural,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “You need more meat on your bones. But I suppose you’re excited about your trip.”

Frodo laughed. “If I’m to reach Buckland in the next few days, I should start out soon.”

“Do you have everything you need?” Bilbo asked.

“I’m already packed.”

“Bedroll? Fire kit? Rain gear?”

Frodo nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I have thought of everything.”

Bilbo put his arm affectionately around Frodo’s shoulders. He smelled of pipeweed and tea. Frodo’s heart swelled with love. He was so lucky to have been brought to Bag End. “I have taught you well.”

“Yes,” Frodo said with a smile. “Yes you have.”

“Be safe, my lad,” Bilbo said. “Don’t get into any trouble.” Then he jumped as if he had been stung by a bee. “I nearly forgot! Take the last of the pound cake. I won’t finish it and it will go stale by the time you get back.”

Bilbo wrapped the cake in cloth.

“Thank you!” Frodo said, putting it in his pack. “It will be nice to have something sweet to eat on our journey.” Impulsively, he gave Bilbo a fierce hug. “I love you, Uncle.”

Bilbo started in surprise. He pulled back, trying to catch his breath. He seemed flustered by Frodo’s sudden show of affection. “I love you too, lad. You’ll only be gone a few days. I’ll still be here. Go on, now! Get going. You don’t want to keep that rascal Merry waiting.”

Frodo hoisted his pack on his back and was out the door. He felt so excited. He was going on a real adventure, just as Bilbo had done so many years ago. The spring sun felt warm on his face, though not so warm as to cause discomfort. He jaunted down the road, feeling light-hearted. He could not wait to see his cousins again. Though he loved his uncle and enjoyed the quiet pace of Hobbiton, there was nobody his age he had befriended yet. He appreciated Buckland so much more now that he did not live there anymore.

If there are images in this attachment, they will not be displayed. Download the original attachment

Title: A Simple Trip to Bree 2/?  
Author: Claudia  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: A young Frodo and Merry sneak a trip to Bree. Trouble ensues.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

Story Notes: Are my Brees ever friendly places? ;-) But here I’m doing it. A young Frodo fic. Oh my. Will wonders never cease. For purpose of plot, Merry and Frodo are almost the same age, with Merry only about five years younger.

  
2\. Estel

Frodo only took one short rest, and that was to eat lunch. Though his feet ached from walking, he was far too excited about the prospect of seeing his cousins to want to linger in one place for too long. He had studied the map with Bilbo, so he knew his route by heart. It was not a difficult route--he just had to follow the road.

The sky clouded over, and Frodo glanced at the sky, his brow puckered in worry. He had brought rain gear as his uncle had insisted, but he hoped he really wouldn’t have to use it so soon into his journey. He didn’t mind walking in the rain, but it was so much better to have fine weather while walking. Plus, he caught colds so easily. It would be terrible to have his camping trip ruined by illness.

As the sun went down, Frodo realized that he needed to find a place to camp while there was still enough light. He was still not experienced in starting campfires. He headed into a patch of cool, darkening woods. The sounds of crickets and cicadas filled the air. Birds chattered, flitting from tree to tree. The air had cooled considerably, as it was not far enough into spring for the evenings to be warm. Frodo could even see his breath. He hoped he was able to make a fire. Otherwise it would be a miserable night. He only had one thin bedroll.

First he would rest for a few moments. He heaved his pack off his back and collapsed on a log. He massaged his aching feet. He would have to clean the hair on them in a stream before presenting himself to his relatives. He could not let his Buckland relatives think that he had become uncivilized while living with Bilbo.

Frodo glanced to his side, and nearly fell from the log with a gasp of terror. His skin turned hot and then cold, and he broke into wild trembling. He had not noticed, but a large sleeping figure lay only about five feet from the log. From his size, Frodo guessed that it was one of the Big Folk. Frodo did not dare move. He did not dare let out a breath. The man was dressed in earthy hues. Beside him lay several large, gleaming weapons. The man’s breath was soft and even.

Frodo clutched himself in paralyzed fear. He remembered what his uncle had said about the Big Folk from Bree crossing the river and hiding from the law in the Shire. His heart sped and thumped against his chest until he feared the man could hear it. Should he risk the noise and run? Would he have a chance to hide if this man woke? He had been walking quietly, as only hobbits can, not even whistling a tune as he had been earlier in the day. But he had thrown his pack down hard.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he should flee, as Bilbo had instructed him, but his muscles couldn’t seem to move. He continued to stare in fascination at the man. This was the first Big Person he had seen. He stared at the man’s leathery skin, his dark, scraggly hair, the stubbles of hair on his face. He had not seen much facial hair in his limited experience.

Frodo moved closer to the man. His curiosity was beginning to overrule the fear. He was careful not to step on any twigs. He had to get a closer look. He pushed Bilbo’s warnings from his mind. He had never seen such a large figure. The proportions were the same as on his body—same two legs, two arms, head, eyes, ears, nose, etc. But so much bigger, more like a troll than a person.

Frodo stood right beside him, looking down. He was in fascination of the man’s rough face. Several white scars marred his already rough skin. And the hair. It just wasn’t natural to grow hair on the face.

As if in a trance, Frodo bent, reaching out toward the man’s whiskery face. He had to see how it felt. The man was in a deep sleep. He would surely not respond to such a light touch.

His hand brushed over the man’s face.

The man’s eyes snapped open, and before Frodo could jump away, an iron hand had closed around his ankle. He thrust himself backward in terror—oh, he should have listened to Uncle Bilbo!--and fell on his backside. He thrashed, trying desperately to pull out of the man’s strong grip. He cried out, knowing it was useless. He was miles from the nearest farm.

“Halfling, calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” A strong arm caught Frodo’s arm, more, it seemed, to keep him from hurting himself in his struggle than to do him harm. Still, his gray eyes glinted ominously as he moved to face Frodo.

Frodo froze again. It was useless to struggle. He thought about Bilbo, safe in Bag End, probably reading and smoking his pipe. If this man hurt him, it would be days, possibly weeks before Bilbo knew something was amiss. He eyed the man’s weapons in terror. The man helped him sit against the log. He let go of Frodo’s leg and arm.

“There now,” the man said. “Are you okay?” His voice was pleasant, not at all threatening. Frodo nodded, though his throat was filled with terror. He couldn’t seem to stop trembling. He couldn’t take his eyes from the weapons at the man’s side.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” the man continued. “But you gave me quite a scare as well. I suppose I can’t truly blame you, though, seeing how I’m the stranger in your land.”

The man saw the direction of Frodo’s worried gaze. He threw his cloak over his weapons with a smile. “I will hide them if that makes you feel better.”

“Who…who…I mean, what…” Frodo tried to speak but he couldn’t seem to get enough breath. “I’m sorry,” he finished, clutching his shaking hands. He had to get himself under control.

The man sat across from him, crossing his legs and smiling softly. “I’m a friend. You do not need to fear me.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said again, looking at the stranger with large eyes. Now that he was fairly certain he was not going to be harmed, he felt ashamed by his rudeness. “It’s just that I’ve never met one of your kind.”

“That’s okay,” the man said. “I must seem as a monster to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said, shaking his head in denial of his last statement. “But may I ask who you are?”

The man smiled again. “Certainly. You may call me Estel. I am a ranger from the North. I keep watch on your borders, to make certain no harm comes to the Shire.”

“Harm?” Frodo said in alarm.

“Your people are not equipped for war, and there are creatures who would attack—oh, I am sorry. I should not be frightening a young lad such as yourself.”

“I’m not very young,” Frodo said indignantly. “I’m just acting like it by being a coward, I’m afraid. I’m twenty-four.”

“Which, as I understand, is the equivalent of being a young teenager among my kind.”

“You know something of hobbits?” Frodo asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. His fear was forgotten. This man with the low voice seemed unlike the frightening men that Bilbo had described. There was in fact something that reminded him of Gandalf. He watched in fascination as the man got a small fire started with seemingly no effort.

“I’ve been in and out of the Shire for years,” Estel said. “I try to stay out of the way. I have the feeling most hobbits in your villages would react as you first did.”

“Oh,” Frodo said, blushing and looking down. He did not want to be reminded of his cowardly behavior. He would modify the tale when he told his cousins, of course. He couldn’t wait to tell them. They would be impressed by the incident. None of them had seen any of the Big Folk before.

“What are you doing wandering in the middle of nowhere so late?” Estel asked.

Frodo smiled. “I’m going to Buckland to visit my cousins. Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t tell you my name. I’m Frodo Baggins.”

“Baggins!” Estel said in surprise. “I know of a Baggins. Are you by chance related to Bilbo Baggins?”

Frodo gasped in joy. “How do you know him?”

“A dear friend of mine has many dealings with the Shire. Bilbo is a good friend of his. They went on a big adventure together a long time ago.”

“Gandalf? You’re a friend of Gandalf’s?” Frodo asked. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

Frodo jumped up and impulsively gave Estel a big hug. He didn’t know whether it was because he was just a naturally demonstrative young lad or because he was so relieved to find that the man who had first frightened him so much happened to be a dear friend of Gandalf’s, whom Frodo loved very much.

Estel grunted in surprise, and patted Frodo’s back tentatively.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Frodo said, flushing and sitting down. “I can be a little too much to handle. Even Bilbo says so.”

“No, it is all right,” Estel said with a fond smile. “Go on. I interrupted you. You said you were visiting cousins in Buckland.”

“Yes, Merry and Pippin and others I have missed since going to live with Bilbo. We’re going to camp by the river. We’re going to have our own adventure.”

“Ah,” Estel said. He smoked his pipe. “I should warn you to use some caution in that area. A lot of outlaws from Bree have been skulking around in those woods.”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo interrupted. “Bilbo’s already warned me.”

“I wouldn’t go up to them and try to touch their whiskers.”

Frodo flushed again, but laughed when he saw the smile in Estel’s eyes. “Oh, I won’t. I fulfilled my curiosity through you.”

“I’ve heard the curiosity of a Baggins is unquenchable,” Estel said.

“Gandalf’s been talking!” Frodo said in amusement. “What else has he said?”

“Oh, I haven’t seen him in awhile,” Estel said. “I do miss him.” He stood, gathering his belongings together. “Well, Frodo Baggins, it was a pleasure to speak with you but I must move on.”

“Oh,” Frodo said in disappointment. He was hoping that they could share a campfire and meal so he wouldn’t be alone the whole evening.

“I wish you luck in Buckland.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said. “And thank you for making the fire. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not very good at that yet.”

“Stay safe, Frodo.” Estel said with a final smile. In moments, he had disappeared into the gloom of the woods. Frodo was left alone to contemplate his very aloneness. That was his first real adventurous moment of his trip. If Estel had been one of the ruffians Bilbo had told him about, he could have had his throat slit by now. Or perhaps he would have been kidnapped. He had no idea why a man would want to kidnap a hobbit, other than because they could.

He couldn’t wait to tell Bilbo all about his first adventure. Bilbo would chastise him for touching the man’s face, but when he realized that the man knew Gandalf, he would be pleased. And Merry and Pippin would be mad with envy. He smiled as he curled up beside the fire. He was already feeling sleepy and his body ached pleasantly from all the walking. He fell asleep while the fire was still going strong.

If there are images in this attachment, they will not be displayed. Download the original attachment

Title: A Simple Trip to Bree 3/?  
Author: Claudia  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: A young Frodo and Merry sneak a trip to Bree. Trouble ensues.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

Story Notes: Are my Brees ever friendly places? ;-) But here I’m doing it. A young Frodo fic. Oh my. Will wonders never cease. For purpose of plot, Merry and Frodo are almost the same age, with Merry and Pippin only being about five years younger.

3\. Greetings and Tales

“Frodo! Frodo!” The gleeful shouts from his cousin spurred Frodo to break into a run. His feet ached from the long day of hiking, his muscles were sore from sleeping on the hard ground overnight, and his pack jostled against his back, bruising and scratching him. He wondered how Bilbo had handled such rough living for weeks on end.

“I’m here!” Frodo shouted, nearly tripping over a rabbit hole. He slammed into his cousin Merry, and they both fell to the ground, laughing and gasping for breath. He wrestled his pack off his shoulders and tossed it beside him.

“You’re late!” Merry cried. “We were expecting you much earlier.”

“I took my time,” Frodo said, rolling on his back and looking up at the sky. “I’ve never walked this route alone.”

“Well, let’s get back to Brandy Hall immediately or you’ll miss tea! We’re all expecting you. Pippin’s been bothering me all day, asking when you’re coming.” Merry jumped up and pulled Frodo to his feet. Though Merry was a few years younger, he was the same size as Frodo and would certainly soon surpass him. “And I wouldn’t lie on the ground around here—I’ve seen snakes out here before!”

“I have adventures to tell you about,” Frodo said with a smile, picking his pack from the ground. They took their time walking through the field. Frodo could not wait to fill his stomach. The cooking at Brandy Hall had always been of the highest quality. Though not as good as Bilbo’s, Frodo thought loyally.

“Adventures!” Merry said. “Not fair! You weren’t supposed to have any without me.”

Frodo’s blue eyes sparkled. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. I’ll tell you and Pippin together. Just to give you a hint--I met a Big Person!”

Merry’s smile was scornful. “There are no Big People in the Shire. You’re fibbing!”

“No,” Frodo said. “I am telling the truth.”

Merry’s voice dropped. “Was he scary? Did he try to shoot you? They hunt hobbits, you know.”

“Nonsense!” Frodo said. “Uncle Bilbo says they have strange ways and some of them are dangerous, but mostly they’re just like overgrown hobbits.”

“Ha! That’s an insult if I’ve ever heard one,” Merry said. “They’re uncivilized and loud. I’ve heard they don’t even sit down proper at a table when they eat. They shoot any creature they can point an arrow at--and cook them. They eat with their hands, if you can believe it. And they do hunt hobbits. Fatty Bolger says that in Bree they have street vendors who sell hobbit hair—“

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo cried. “That is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard! You know Fatty loves to tell tales. Why would any of the Big Folk be interested in hobbit hair?”

“Because it’s thick and curly. All the Big Folk have stringy, greasy hair. Hobbit hair is considered valuable.”

“They do have whiskers on their faces,” Frodo added. “I touched them with my own hand.”

Merry’s eyes widened. “Oh, Frodo. You should have been more careful. What if he had awakened? What would we have told old Bilbo?”

  
They had reached the foyer of Brandy Hall. The younger cousins saw Frodo and squealed with delight. In seconds, Frodo was on the floor, covered with five or six squirming hobbit children.

“Frodo! Frodo!” They cried. “You came back!”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, laughing and giving them all hugs and kisses. “But I didn’t expect to get this much of a welcome!”

Lastly, Pippin—nearly as big as Frodo though a few years younger than Merry--threw himself on Frodo. “Merry, you rascal! You didn’t tell me Frodo was here! How long are you staying with us, cousin Frodo?”

“We’ll only be around tonight,” Merry said. “Frodo and I are going camping in the woods. So we can have an adventure!”

“Oh,” Pippin said, looking crestfallen.

“Why not come with us?” Frodo asked. “There’s room for three!”

“He cannot,” Merry said. “He’s still recovering from pneumonia. He’s not to be exposed to the cold and wet.”

Frodo’s eyes widened in alarm as he climbed to his feet again. The younger hobbit children scampered off to wash their hands for tea. “Pneumonia! Nobody sent word to Hobbiton! Oh, Pippin, I had no idea you’ve been so ill!”

“He was very sick,” Merry said, putting his arm around his younger cousin. “They were afraid he was going to die.”

“Oh, no. I feel terrible,” Frodo said. “I would have come. Bilbo would have come, too.”

“The doctor wouldn’t have let you,” Pippin said. “None of the cousins were allowed anywhere around me in case I gave them my illness.”

“Well, Pippin,” Frodo said. “I’m very sorry to hear about it. I hope maybe some other time soon you’ll be able to join us in our adventures.”

“Frodo’s already had adventures,” Merry said resentfully. “He’s met one of the Big Folk.”

Pippin gasped. “Did he try to steal you?”

“No, silly,” Frodo said. “He’s…” He nearly told them that Estel was Gandalf’s friend, but he was beginning to enjoy the fame of being the only one out of his cousins who had met a Big Person. “He was a ranger.”

“A ranger,” Merry said. “You didn’t tell me that! I’ve heard tell that rangers are the most dangerous of them all.”

“He had a lot of weapons,” Frodo said with a delicious shudder. “I thought he was sleeping, and I got too close. He grabbed my ankle.”

Pippin and Merry gasped. “No!” Pippin said. “Frodo, you’re lucky to be here. How did you get away? Fatty Bolger says the rangers creep into the Shire regularly and steal hobbits. They sell them as pets to rich Big People in far distant lands. The king has several as slaves.”

Frodo laughed, remembering the kindness in Estel’s eyes. “That’s even better than what Fatty told you, Merry! First of all, there is no king. A Steward rules in Gondor. If you paid attention in your lessons you would know that. And second--honestly, do you know of any hobbit of the Shire that has disappeared without a trace?”

Neither Merry nor Pippin could come up with anyone that they personally knew of who had disappeared.

“It’s just that Fatty said…” Pippin began awkwardly.

“Fatty listens to fairy tales and believes them,” Merry said, blushing. “I’m ashamed I’ve listened to him. But Frodo, what happened when he grabbed your ankle? How did you get away?”

“I tried to run away, but he was too strong. I saw his weapons and knew if I didn’t do something, he would slit my throat!”

His cousins looked duly impressed.

“And then it goes on from there,” Frodo said. He was reluctant to add that Estel was a friend. He wished he could make up a story of escape that his cousins would believe. He thought quickly. He could have overcome the ranger by grabbing a cooking pan and knocking it over his head. Or he could have poked out his eyes with his fingers.

“Goes on from there? No!” Merry said. “What happened? Are you going to hold out on us?”

“Well,” Frodo said. He couldn’t lie to his dear friends. “Actually, he was very kind to me. He was a friend of Gandalf’s.”

Merry and Pippin looked confused. “Kind?”

“Yes,” Frodo said. “It turns out he even knew Bilbo.”

“My, it’s a small world,” Merry said, shaking his head. He was obviously disappointed that the story had ended so peacefully. “That Bilbo really made a name for himself when he went off on his adventure.”

“Are you sure he was really a friend of Bilbo’s?” Pippin asked. “Are you sure it wasn’t a trap?”

“Pippin, I’m here, aren’t I? If he had wanted to harm me, he could have.”

“Hmph!”

The three cousins washed up for tea. They were the last to join the table. Frodo got a friendly reception from all his relatives. He was bruised from everyone who grabbed him for a hug and a kiss.

Strange how they all want to be kind to me now that I don’t live here, he thought. Still, it was nice to be among family, and especially to be around Merry and Pippin, whom he had dearly missed. He nearly regretted that he and Merry were going to camp. He would almost rather spend the week catching up with his relatives. After all, he had already had his adventure.

If there are images in this attachment, they will not be displayed. Download the original attachment

Title: A Simple Trip to Bree 4/?  
Author: Claudia  
Rating: PG13  
Summary: A young Frodo and Merry sneak a trip to Bree. Trouble ensues.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

Story Notes: Are my Brees ever friendly places? ;-) But here I’m doing it. A young Frodo fic. Oh my. Will wonders never cease. For purpose of plot, Merry and Frodo are almost the same age, with Merry and Pippin only being about five years younger.

  
4\. Robbed!

  
Frodo and Merry had set off from Brandy Hall while it was still dark. Most of the household was still asleep. The night before, the two young hobbits had gathered everything they needed for their camping trip—bedrolls, rain gear, cooking items, food, canteens. They were too excited to sit down to a proper breakfast. They grabbed a few apples for the road and set off into a dense morning fog.

Now it was early afternoon, and the fog had not lifted. A sharp chill to the air made Frodo glad he had brought both his jacket and cloak. The few days of spring-like warmth that Frodo had enjoyed on his trip to Buckland had been tantalizing but brief.

“I’ve been thinking all night,” Merry said. “And I still think it’s unfair that you’ve had an adventure without me.”

“So?” Frodo said, raising his eyebrows. His lips curved in amusement.

“What do you say that we have our own adventure?”

“What do you think we are doing?” Frodo said. “We’re camping on the very border to the Outside.”

“No,” Merry said. His cheeks were rosy with excitement. “I was thinking--Perhaps we should go beyond—to the world Outside.”

“What do you mean?” Frodo asked, alarmed. “Beyond the Shire?”

At the idea, his heart fluttered. They were close to the border. It would be so easy to expand their trip. But what about the unsavory men that Bilbo and Estel had mentioned? The idea of encounter them—from a safe distance--sent a thrill through him.

“I’ve heard of a village not too far outside the Shire called Bree,” Merry said. “Hobbits of the Shire used to go there a long time back.”

Frodo nodded. “I’ve heard of Bree. Bilbo says lots of ruffians live there.”

“But there are also hobbits—so it’s not completely unsafe.”

“Merry,” Frodo said with a soft smile. He could not deny that a real adventure was tempting. “If it’ll make you happier, we’ll go. But we must not attract undue attention to ourselves. You’re still my responsibility.”

“I’m old enough to take care of myself.” Merry tried to look indignant, but he was unable to hide his enthusiasm.

Frodo’s ankle banged against a jutting rock in their path. Before Merry could grab him, he fell with a cry. He tumbled off the path and out of control down a steep incline. He landed in a pile of brush covered in dry leaves. A sharp pain dug into his ankle. Frodo was afraid to move. He had obviously landed in thorns.

“Frodo!” Merry shouted, sliding down after him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m all right,” Frodo said. He sat up, dazed. The path seemed a long way up the incline. “My ankle’s been scratched by thorns, but that is nothing. Be careful. We don’t need both of us being scratched up. I can make it.”

“You frightened me to death!” Merry said. “If you’d broken your leg, we’re so far from help!”

“I am all right,” Frodo said again. He looked at his ankle. A few drops of blood had oozed out of the wounds where the thorns had jabbed him. He climbed to his feet and followed Merry back up the incline.

  
***

Frodo stopped suddenly in the middle of the path. They had reached the end of the woods which signaled the end of the Shire. Merry slammed into him, cracking his jaw against the back of Frodo’s head.

“Ouch!” Merry held his face. “Why’d you stop like that?”

“I’m sorry, Merry. I only wanted to tell you that we are now Outside. Imagine it. No hobbit, besides Bilbo, that we know has actually ventured out of the Shire.”

Merry’s eyes shone with sudden wonder. “Poor Pip. He’ll be so jealous.”

It was late afternoon when a rumbling of hooves and the creaking of a wagon made Frodo’s heart jump.

“Get off the road,” he whispered to Merry. He felt ashamed. He was supposed to be brave. After all, it had been he who had met Estel. He hated to act skittish in front of Merry, but he felt more nervous now than before. After all, Estel may have been the exception to the rule. This may be a band of ruffians, though in truth he pictured them more as slinking through the woods instead of riding casually down the road in broad daylight.

“I want to see. It may be my first view of Big people.”

“You’ll not see anything if you’re run over!” Frodo pulled his arm until they were off the road. They stood half shielded by a large boulder, ready to dart into the woods at the first sign of danger.

A large wagon pulled by horses rounded the corner. A hulking man with dark, stringy hair drove the horses. Two or three men sat in the back of the wagon. Frodo’s ankle, where he had been pierced by the thorns, had begun to fiercely throb. As soon as they got to Bree, Frodo would use the money he had brought to pay for a night at an inn. There he would be able to clean and bind the wound. He patted his vest pocket, grateful that he had remembered to bring coins.

The wagon pulled to a stop beside them. Merry was so nervous that he dug his fingers into Frodo’s arm. For all his previous nagging, he no longer looked ready to be plunged into his first encounter with men.

“Hobbits!” the driver said in surprise. His voice sounded loud and hearty, but his dark eyes looked humorless. “What’re you doing so far from the Shire? You lost?”

Frodo gathered his courage and stepped out from behind the boulder. “We’re headed to the village of Bree.”

“I run my share wagon to Tillwood by way of Bree. Wanna ride?”

“How much?”

“Fifteen coins each. Twenty, if you’re going all the way to Tillwood. You can pay me at the end.”

“No,” Merry whispered to Frodo. He was pale and his breath came out in nervous gasps. “We can walk.”

“It’s all right, Merry,” Frodo whispered. “My foot is sore and I’d welcome a break from walking. This way we can enjoy the scenery, and you get your first close view of Big Folk in a safe environment.” He didn’t tell Merry that he was also feeling a pit of nausea in his belly and wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to continue walking. At least if the wagon took them straight to Bree, they could find the inn and he could rest for a few days under a roof. He hoped he wasn’t going to be very ill. He was so far from Bilbo and Bag End.

“You fellows going to climb on or not?” the driver asked. “I don’t have all day.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said, flustered. He climbed on the wagon with some difficulty. His wounded foot felt clumsy and stiff. The skin directly around the wound was somewhat swollen. A man inside the wagon clutched Frodo’s shoulder and helped him over the side. Frodo thanked him and helped Merry up. The two hobbits plopped down on the hard wooden floor of the wagon.

“Hello,” Frodo said to the staring men with a smile. He felt obligated to be brave in front of his younger cousin. Merry would not even look up from his hands.

The two men across from Frodo grunted. They averted their eyes. The man who had helped Frodo in the cart, smiled and slapped Frodo’s knee.

“Where’re you halflings headed?”

“Bree,” Frodo said. “And you?”

“Same,” he said. “Was out visiting my brother---he’s got him a cottage in the woods. Nice and private, like. Almost a hobbit hole.”

“How pleasant,” Frodo said, nodding. Merry managed a shy smile, though he still would not look up.

“Where you from?” the man asked them.

“The Shire,” Frodo answered.

“Well, I know that,” the man laughed scornfully. “I know something of the Shire. Had a little friend from there once. Or maybe it wasn’t the Shire. Maybe it was closer to Bree. Can’t remember. Poor little fellow died not long ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Frodo said.

“He tried to cross the road and there was a speeding horse—ran him right down in the middle of Bree.” The man shook his head, lowering his eyes with regret. “Yep, it was a tragedy. Man on the horse that run him down was right sorry. Says he didn’t even see him.”

“That is a tragedy,” Frodo agreed. Though he had not known the hobbit, the violence of his ending gave him a pang of sadness.

“Hey, can I ask a favor of you?” the man added. He had a strange gleam in his eyes. Frodo looked at him, puzzled. Merry tensed. Frodo wished his cousin would relax. They were perfectly safe inside the wagon.

“What sort of favor?” Frodo said. A new wave of nausea twisted his stomach. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. The waddling motion of the wagon over rough ground did nothing to ease the feeling. He hoped what he and Merry had eaten for lunch was not disagreeing with his stomach. The last thing he needed was to get sick in front of all these men.

“Can I see your feet? I’ve always wanted to touch the bottom of a hobbit foot.”

Frodo looked at him cautiously. The request seemed innocent enough. Naturally men would be curious about hobbit feet. Frodo thought it strange that the man’s hobbit friend who had been killed had never allowed him that chance.

“Well all right,” Frodo said. Merry gave him a side glance. A slight smile curved over his lips.

“Mine are tougher,” Merry said quickly.

“We shall see, little fellow,” the man said. Merry leaned against Frodo, blushing deep red. Frodo was amused by Merry’s shyness. He had never seen Merry act shy.

Frodo stuck his foot out for the man to examine. The man grabbed it none too gently. His hand landed directly on the wound. A flare of horrific pain shot up his leg. Frodo cried out and clutched Merry.

“Sorry,” the man said. He released Frodo’s ankle and stroked the hair on Frodo’s foot as he might a purring kitten. He felt the bottom of the foot. He knocked it with his fist. “Hard as stone!”

Frodo and Merry looked at each other and laughed. The pain had begun to recede somewhat.

“Did you get bit by something?” the man suddenly asked, noticing the wound on Frodo’s ankle.

“Bit?” Frodo said. “Oh, no. I fell earlier and landed on some thorns.”

“But these look like fang marks. Sure you didn’t get bit by a snake? It’s a bit swollen here.”

“A snake?” Frodo said with a grimace. “No, I don’t think so. I didn’t see a snake.”

“Well, you’d probably know by now if it was poisonous. Probably take down a little halfling fast.” He released Frodo’s foot.

Frodo felt somewhat disturbed. The marks on his ankle did look like fang marks. His stomach rolled with new nausea. He had heard of the ester snakes, which killed slowly. The poison was released into the blood from the wound in small enough doses that a hobbit wouldn’t feel truly sick until nearly twenty-four hours after the bite. By that point, it was almost impossible to save him. With that disturbing thought, he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

***

“Wake up, halflings! Wake up. This is the end of the line!”

Frodo woke with a gasp. It was completely dark. He was disoriented, but he became aware of several things at once. First, he was so dizzy that even seated as he was, he had to lean against Merry for support. Second, the dwellings of Big People were more enormous than he had imagined, and third, the money in his vest pocket was gone.

“Are we in Bree?” he managed as he felt again in his pocket. Where had it gone? There were hobbits in Bree. He no longer had money to stay at an inn, but surely he and Merry could beg for lodgings with hobbits. He could promise the hospitality of Bag End in return. He felt too sick to want to camp outdoors.

“Bree?” the man laughed. “Nope, we’ve long passed Bree. This is Tillwood. I’m tired. It’s the end of the line for me and all I wants is to go home and see my family. Now I need twenty from both of ya.”

Frodo’s throat dried. Each time he moved, his stomach rolled until he was sure he would throw up. Then he could catch this same share wagon to Bree in the morning. In the morning? Wherever would they stay in Tillwood? They would need to camp after all. His foot felt completely numb and stiff. He was not sure how he was going to step off the wagon without help.

“I don’t got all night,” the driver said.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Frodo said. “I can’t…my money seems to have been stolen.”

“What?” Merry gasped.

The man’s eyes bore into the hobbits. Frodo had never felt so lost and frightened in his life.

“I need twenty coins from both of you or we’re going to have a problem.”

Frodo’s face burned with shame. Never had anything like this happened to him, even in the safety of Hobbiton. Now the man would think they were simple thieves. Now would be the real test of whether men were the monsters that hobbits seemed to think they were.

“I am sorry, sir. I do not have the money now.” He scrambled through his backpack, though he knew he had not put any money there. He had put all of it in his vest pocket. Who could have stolen it? He had fallen asleep next to the man who had examined his foot earlier. He must have stolen it. “I had it in my pocket.”

A grip like iron closed around his shoulder and he was forced to look up. “What don’t you halflings not understand? I don’t give out free trips. I turned away several different potential rides because of you.”

Merry had gone completely still and quiet.

Frodo knew the man was lying. There had been plenty of room in the wagon for more. “I am sorry. If you give me your address, I can send you the money,” Frodo said. “I will get more from my uncle when I—“

“Do you think I’m going to allow you little thieves to go free?”

“Frodo!” Merry gasped in a weedy whisper.

“I haven’t stolen anything!” Frodo said, his voice cracking in the worst fear he had ever felt. His heart battered against his chest. Black dots smattered in front of his vision. Merry had clutched himself and was looking at his feet as if he might find an answer there. Frodo did not know what to do. It was like being in the middle of a nightmare. He stared up at the man in helpless terror. Should he offer to work for him? He knew he couldn’t run away. They would never make it. His numb foot would never make it. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed against Merry. He felt so sick. Was it possible that the man—the real thief—who had spoken to him in the wagon had been right, that a snake had bit him? The idea horrified him. Bilbo had often talked about how one of his childhood friends had died from a snakebite.

“Frodo, my lad,” Bilbo had said. “That was not a pretty way to die. He was in so much pain.”

Frodo yearned for Bag End. He pictured himself at the breakfast table with Bilbo as he had been the morning he had set off for Buckland. He would pay any amount to be back there right now, a soft bed just down the hall. Bilbo would take care of him.

Oh, Bilbo, he thought, his chin starting to shake. I’ve gotten myself in way over my head. I don’t know what to do!

 

Two men wearing armor on their chest and carrying swords strode in the direction of the parked share wagon. Frodo’s heart lifted with hope that they might help. Surely, if their jobs involved keeping order in this village, they would not allow the driver to bully two hobbits.

His hope crashed when the driver called out to the soldiers in a friendly fashion.

“Erem! Barty! C’mere a minute!”

Merry, thoroughly overwhelmed by the sight of the two armed men, fell to the floor of the wagon and covered his face with his arms. Frodo’s heart sank at the sight of his young cousin reduced to such terror. More than anything, Frodo wanted to comfort him, but the burning pain that gripped his ankle made every movement, however small, nearly insurmountable. He continued to stand, blinking tears away and trying desperately not to throw up.

The two soldiers stared at Frodo in blatant curiosity. One of them asked, “What is going on, Kily?”

“I got two thieves for you, right out of the Shire.”

The idea that Frodo, Bilbo’s heir, could be considered a common thief brought burning shame to Frodo’s cheeks. This was a dreadful misunderstanding, and these soldiers would surely realize it. He met their harsh stares, but he could not calm the battering of his heart because he could not seem to get in enough air. At first he had thought that nervousness and anger had rendered him breathless, but now he was not sure. His lungs felt as though they were constricting against his every effort.

The first soldier peered at Frodo, who still stood in the wagon, and he took in Frodo’s stature and hairy feet. “Halflings?”

“They rode all day with me and now they’re refusing to pay.”

“My money was stolen,” Frodo said. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand as tall as he could. An intense wave of dizziness caused him to stagger, but he was able to keep on his feet. “I offered…we offered to pay when we got on, but…”

His stomach turned over several times, but this time, it did not stabilize. Frodo staggered to the edge of the wagon and threw up over the side. The agony in his ankle was secondary to the miserable nausea in his belly. Frodo glanced down in time to see Merry curl into a tight fetal position.

“What do you want us to do with them?”

The soldiers had not reacted to Frodo’s illness, for which Frodo was grateful. He fell to his knees beside Merry, causing a sharp flare of pain up his leg. Frodo put his arm around Merry. He was just a lad of nineteen—and he had never been outside the Shire. He was probably blaming himself for practically dragging them out of the Shire.

“I don’t care, but get them out of my face,” the driver said, spitting on the ground. “Teach them a good lesson. I’m sick of getting ripped off.”

“All right then,” The soldier that had been called Erem jumped into the wagon. “You two will be coming with me.” He met Frodo’s gaze. “What ails your friend?”

Frodo kept his arm around Merry, seeking desperately for compassion in Erem’s eyes. ”He is very frightened. He’s just a young lad and he’s never encountered men before today…and now this misunderstanding—“

“There’s no misunderstanding,” the driver said with disgust. “You didn’t pay for your ride. Now get off my wagon or I promise you, you’ll get it worse.”

Merry shook his head but he would not move.

“Come now,” Erem said. “We do not have all the night to tarry here.”

“Merry,” Frodo whispered, kissing his head. “You must stand up. I’m feeling too ill to take care of you, though I wish I could. Please help me!”

Merry obeyed, but he kept his eyes covered with the crook of his elbow. Frodo put his arm around Merry, and he helped him struggle over the side of the wagon.

Frodo cringed in new agony. He had jolted his ankle when he stepped down, and he had never felt such flaring, burning pain. He would have fallen if Merry hadn’t been at his side. He could not put his weight on his foot, which had swollen to nearly twice the size of the other. A gray mist passed in front of his eyes. He tried to focus on something… anything to keep him conscious. He let his eyes fix on Erem’s sword, though just the sight of such a harsh weapon caused his heart to patter in frightened rhythms.

Erem chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. “Now why’d you leave your little country to go and try to pull the wool over Kily? Nobody does that and gets away with it, knowing Kily as I do.”

“You fellows are really tiny,” Barty said. “Like little dolls, you are. ‘Tis a pity to treat you like criminals, as I’ve got three little ones at home and you’re no bigger than they.”

“Please,” Frodo said. His ears filled with roaring and he knew he was going to lose his battle with consciousness. “Let Merry go…he’s just a lad, and I…Something’s wrong with--”

Frodo tried to focus on the stones beneath his feet, but it was no use -- the ground rushed at him with horrible speed and engulfed him in blackness.

***

Frodo lay in a cold blackness, but he heard staccato weeping from a great distance. His ankle seemed to throb in rhythm to the weeping. Where was he? Oh, of course. He was at the burial of his parents, and the weeping was his own. Or perhaps it was he who had drowned in the cold river. He was too nauseated to be dead.

No – something else had happened.

He forced his eyes open. He was lying on an uncomfortable cot. Merry lay squeezed beside him, clutching Frodo’s hand and weeping. Bars covered a window in his direct line of sight.

“Merry,” Frodo said. He tried to breathe, but he could only take in half breaths. The lower part of his lungs felt as if they had frozen.

“Oh, Frodo…they…they just threw us in here,” Merry said through his tears. “They’ve left us to starve. I’ll never see my ma again…or Pippin…and dear old Bilbo! And…then…you fell and that man slung you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Maybe Fatty was right…they’ll sell our hair and sell us to men…we’ll never see home again.” He broke into new sobbing. Frodo held him, though all of his muscles ached. “This is all my fault! We should never have left the Shire!”

“No,” Frodo whispered.

“And you’re so sick,” Merry continued. “And I am no help, only a burden…I was too frightened to tell them you need a healer.”

The echo of voices coming in their direction caused the hobbits to stop talking and clutch each other.

“Halflings? From the Shire?” This man’s voice was rich and deep, full of authority.

“Yeah, and looks like one of them’s real sick and the other’s too scared to talk.”

The first man’s voice grew cold and stern. “You should have sent for a healer right away. We cannot afford to have the rangers at our throats if that halfling dies under our care. You should not have brought them here. They should have been taken to the ranger’s lodge up by Fraaton where they would have been taken back to the law in the Shire. We don’t know enough about halflings, and I don’t want the responsibility on my head.”

Merry let out a sob at the mention of Frodo possibly dying. He buried his face in Frodo’s shoulder.

A shadow fell over them. Frodo forced his eyes open. A large man, well dressed, unlocked the cell and came in. Frodo recognized Erem beside him. “Brrr…it’s cold in here,” the well dressed man said. “You fellows cold?”

When neither hobbit answered, the man knelt beside the cot. “Which one of you is ill?”

Merry kept his face buried in Frodo’s shoulder, but he pointed to Frodo.

Frodo nodded, gasping for the strength to talk. “I think…I think I was…I may have been bit by a snake. Please, sir.” His eyes welled with tears. “If you could at least send…please send…a message to Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton in the Shire. I just want him to know where I am.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. He had not wanted to cry in front of Merry, but he felt so weak and sick. He wanted nothing more than to see Bilbo’s kind face above him, tucking him into his own bed. “Please…please don’t sell us to the South or…at least without telling Bilbo.”

Frodo saw compassion in the man’s face, and that made him cover his face and weep harder. The man touched his shoulder. “How old are you?”

“Twenty…twenty-four,” Frodo said in a trembling voice. “And Merry is nineteen.”

“Old enough to know better,” Erem said sternly.

The well dressed man turned to him. “The halflings are different. They do not come of age until thirty-three. I learned that much from my trips to Bree. They are both still under the care of adults in their land.” He squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “Am I not right?”

“Yes,” Frodo said. He struggled for breath. “Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins…”

“You are having difficulty breathing?” the man said with some concern. Frodo nodded, tears still coming down his cheeks. The man turned to Erem. “Send for a healer immediately. Tell him I have a young halfling -– and that’s important because of his size -- with a serious snakebite.”

Erem nodded and left.

Merry suddenly looked up. “Please help him,” he said in a surprisingly steady voice. “He’s so sick and it’s my fault for wanting to leave the Shire. Now I’ve caused this….You’re not…you’re not going to sell us?”

The man’s lips twitched slightly. “Why do you keep asking me this? Do I look like a troll to you?”

Frodo and Merry only stared at him, afraid to answer. Frodo felt a new wave of nausea grip his belly.

“Is that what they tell you, to scare you out of leaving the Shire?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo said. He swallowed several times. He did not want to vomit in front of this man. In order to avoid throwing up on Merry, he would need to heave himself to nearly a sitting position. He could not conceive of moving even that much…it hurt so much to move.

“Well, I’ll put your minds at ease and say I have no plans to sell you.” He chuckled a little and shook his head. “I am Pralin Appleby, the mayor of this village. Now let me take a look at this snake bite.”

The man gently moved Merry’s hands out of the way. “Now, I’m not going to hurt your friend. I want to help him. Just sit tight, little one.”

Frodo clenched Merry’s arm as Pralin turned examined his swollen foot.

“My, it’s awfully swollen.” Pralin gently pressed on the red area of skin near the fang marks. “Does this hurt?”

Frodo could barely breathe as new tears of pain streamed from his eyes. He nodded vigorously. “Please,” he gasped. “Will you send a message to Bilbo?”

His heart beat like an out of control drummer, and he gasped for breath, clutching the man’s hand, not caring that he did not trust him. The cell spun out of control, just like Bag End had when he was very young and his parents had taken him to visit Uncle Bilbo, who had made him fly and swoop like a bird. Frodo had screeched with laughter then, but now he felt nothing but burning, throbbing pain. The pain seeped up his leg, burning with more and more vigor until it filled his ears with dull roaring and brought a black curtain over his eyes.

Pralin Appleby, the mayor of Tillwood, pressed his round clammy palms firmly on Frodo’s cheeks. The pressure was all that kept Frodo grounded, the only thing that prevented him from spinning out of control. Frodo leaned into the hands gratefully.

“What’s your name?” Frodo heard the Man ask Merry from a great distance. The dizziness began to subside, and Frodo released jagged breaths which made his chest ache.

“Meriadoc…Merry…people call me Merry.” Frodo managed a slight smile. Merry’s voice had barely faltered. Frodo had faith that Merry would soon shake out of his initial terror and be quite the force to be reckoned with.

“Merry, did you happen to see the snake that bit him?”

Frodo cracked his eyes open. His vision blurred, only allowing him to see shadows of Pralin and Merry.

“No.” Merry’s eyes filled with tears again. “Please, sir. Is he going to die?”

“I’ll do my best to make certain that does not happen.” Pralin released Frodo’s cheeks to wipe sweat from his own face. Frodo noticed with alarm that the Man seemed to be wheezing. Could the mayor of Tillwood be ill? “It looks as though the bite is not deadly, Merry, just very potent. Or he is having an allergic reaction. If the bite was deadly, he’d likely be dead by now as oftentimes, the poison from those snakes shoots right to the heart, especially in one so small.” Merry choked and grabbed Frodo’s hand, but Pralin squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry. There aren’t many deadly snakes in these lands, if any.”

Frodo felt suddenly warm and relaxed. Pralin had put him at ease, and he was certain he would not keep them in jail. The spasms of pain in his ankle faded to a dull throb, and his stomach stabilized. He was drenched in sweat and for the time, he had only the strength to even out his breaths.

“How long…” Merry asked Pralin in a halting voice. “How long must we stay here, in jail?”

“I’ll not keep you.” Pralin pressed his hands on Frodo’s cheeks again. “When the healer comes, we’ll see what he says about moving Frodo. If we can with no harm done, we’ll find a place, perhaps the healer’s cottage, for him to recover. With proper care, he should be back on his feet in a few days.”

Merry broke into a tearful smile, and he clutched Pralin’s hand with both of his much smaller ones. “Thank you, good sir. Thank you.”

It looked as though he would soon see Bilbo again, though he felt too sick and weak to travel. Perhaps once they were out of jail, a message could be sent to Bilbo, and he could borrow the Gamgees’ wagon and fetch them himself. The idea made him smile.

“Are you all right, sir?” Merry asked with sudden concern. “You look awfully pale.”

“Fear not,” Pralin said with a wan smile, though he looked distracted. Frodo’s smile faded. “I’ve a bit of nasty complaint in my stomach. I need naught but some rest.” Pralin shook his head thoughtfully. “Kily, the fellow that drove the wagon you were on -- I’ve suspected he’s a thief for a long time. I would bet my life he stole your money himself. He should be ashamed, having a family and children of his own. How would he feel if his own lads faced your situation, I wonder?”

Merry looked at him in open adoration.

Pralin staggered to his feet. “I will be right back, young halflings. I’ll fetch you some blankets.” He put his hand on Frodo’s brow and turned to Merry. “He’s sweating a lot, natural for a reaction to a snakebite, and he’s apt to take a chill.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said, though he frowned at the severity of the trembling of Pralin’s hand. “Are you sure you feel all right?”

Pralin sank to one knee, his face contorting, and he clutched at his left upper arm, groaning loudly.

“Pralin, sir!” Merry cried, jumping from the cot and grabbing hold of Pralin’s shoulders. “Shall we call for someone?”

Pralin’s face turned a deep red, and droplets of sweat rolled down his face.

Frodo lifted himself weakly on his elbows as Pralin collapsed to his stomach. “Pralin!” he called weakly. He rolled off of the cot and scrambled on hands and knees to the Man.

“Help! Help!” Merry ran to the metal bars that kept them in the cell and shook them. “Please!”

Pralin blinked a few times before his eyes glazed and he stopped breathing. Frodo shook his shoulder, his heart thudding. He listened for breath, but it had truly stopped.

“What has happened to him?” Frodo asked, feeling Pralon’s brow. The Man stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Frodo bent over his mouth and strained his ears for breath. Still nothing. A strangling coldness filled his throat. It had happened so fast. What could have killed him so fast? Was it possible that the poison from his own wound…? No, that was ridiculous. If it would bring down a Man this fast, surely it would have killed a hobbit by now.

“Merry, he’s dead.” Frodo reached with a trembling hand and pulled Pralin’s eyelids over his unseeing eyes.

“No, no!” Merry cried, falling to his knees beside the body.

Two guards ran down the corridor, and Frodo recognized one of them as Barty, one of the guards who had taken them from the share wagon to jail.

“Help!” Frodo said, gesturing to Pralin’s pallid face.

“What ails you--?” Barty stopped, his eyes widening, when he saw Pralin lying limp on the cold stone. He met eyes with the second guard before unlocking the door and swiftly joining the hobbits beside the body. “What has happened?” Barty’s fierce gaze fell on Frodo. “What have you done to him?”

“Done…?” Frodo asked, his lips parting in confusion. His chest filled with cold dread that socked the breath from him, as if he had jumped into a cold stream in winter. Could they truly believe that…he shook his head until he felt it could fall off. “No…We’ve done nothing to him.” His breaths came in rapid gasps. “He fell…was ill…stopped breathing…” He looked up at Barty in terror. “You can’t possibly think we…” He gestured toward Pralin. “No…”

“You had nothing to do with it, eh?” the second guard said mockingly as he straightened out Pralin’s body, checking his pulse point and feeling his brow. He shook his head, releasing a hard sigh, and looked at Barty. “He’s dead.”

Merry put his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo shook so hard that his injured ankle was jarred against the stone floor, reactivating the pain. Tears filled his eyes. A good Man such as this probably had a large, merry family waiting for him. He was no doubt a jolly father who kept his little ones entertained with stories. He would have come home with a good tale today, had he lived. His children would scarce believe he had met two halfling lads, one with a snake bite. Now he would never get that chance. The children would be fatherless. Frodo’s chest ached as he thought of his own father with a fierce wave of grief that could still hit him without warning at the strangest times.

“Let us carry him out then,” Barty said.

The guards heaved up Pralin, Barty taking the shoulders, the other taking the legs.

The second guard turned around. “We’ll be back, make no mistake.” They put Pralin down on the other side of the bars only long enough to make certain the cell was locked.

“He was kind,” Merry whispered. “He was so kind and now he’s gone. What will they do to us? They think we killed him.”

“I do not know,” Frodo said. His heart felt faint. His ankle throbbed angrily, as if dozens of hornets stung at it. At least he didn’t feel utterly faint and incapacitated as he had earlier. “Surely they will see that there is no way we could have. We don’t have weapons and even together, we’re not strong enough to kill him with our hands.”

Too soon, the guards returned and unlocked the cell. They towered over the hobbits, hands on the hilts of their weapons. Barty’s eyes, though filled with tears, were harsh as he glared at the hobbits.

He spoke first. “We’ll be taking you to Bree, as it’s the only village that deals with murderers.”

Frodo gasped, and a roaring filled his ears. “What do you mean?” He could not believe the Men had not looked closely at Pralin. He could not believe they truly thought the hobbits had killed him.

“You must believe us,” Merry said. “We had nothing to do with it. And why should we? He was the only one in this horrible village who showed us any kindness.”

“Stand up.”

Merry helped Frodo to his feet. Frodo could barely put weight on his injured ankle. He had never felt so cold and frightened. Being confronted by Kily for not having money to pay for their wagon ride was nothing compared to this. This was murder. Nobody in the Shire had ever committed murder, but Frodo had heard that Men killed each other quite often, and that the punishment was severe—either being strung up by the neck or let to rot in a jail cell.

Bilbo would grieve for awhile, but he would have no idea of where to search for him, so eventually he would move on with his life. He doubted these men would send a message back to the Shire.

The guards moved with cold efficiency and bound the hobbits’ hands tightly behind them. Merry and Frodo glanced at each other in terror before being separated, each being led in front of a guard out of the cell.

“I say it’s bad luck that you fellows don’t got shoes,” the second guard said with a harsh laugh. “It’s a long walk.”

“We don’t wear shoes,” Merry said. “But Frodo is injured and cannot walk—“

“Quiet! We ain’t really walking to Bree, but if I hear another squeak out of either of you, I’ll make you walk alongside the wagon.”

Strong hands squeezed Frodo’s shoulders and shoved him forward down the cold corridor.

  
Every step grew more painful than the last. Frodo wondered how many steps there existed still to climb, and he began to count them. One…two…three…four… The grip on his upper arms was not gentle, but he feared to beg the guards to loosen their fingers, fearing they would grip harder out of viciousness. Ten…eleven…twelve…

This was a dreadful nightmare with no end. Less than thirty minutes earlier, Pralin had been ready to set them free and get a healer to help Frodo. Now the kind man was dead and Frodo and Merry were being taken who knows where to stand trial for his murder.

At last they were out into the daylight. He marveled that he had been in the jail only one night. It seemed that one night was far too short a time for his life to have spiraled into such darkness.

Bilbo would not miss him for at least another week. By then, he and Merry could have come to a terrible fate. Merry had told his father that he would be gone for several days. Would word ever get back to them of two hobbits imprisoned in Bree for murder? They got so little news from Bree as it was.

Frodo gasped as he was thrown up none too gently into the back of a wagon, his hands still bound behind him. One of the guards grabbed his ankle—thankfully not the injured one - and tied it to a stake. Merry was thrown beside him, his ankle also tied. “You’ll not be escaping, or you’ll make it worse for yourselves.” He pushed Frodo’s head. “Murderers.”

The word cut Frodo deep inside, though he knew it was not true. Or was it? Could Pralin have died because of something he or Merry had inadvertently done? He could not think of anything, though he had been in such a delirium of pain it was difficult to remember.

“Hoy, Barty!”

Frodo twisted his head to see Erem, the guard Pralin had sent to fetch the healer, and a young man trotting along beside him. Frodo’s heart throbbed with quick hope, though he could not imagine the men would help after they found out what the hobbits were accused of.

“What is happening?” Erem demanded. “Pralin has commanded that I bring back the healer for the halfling. Where are you taking them?”

“Bree, my good sir,” Barty said with a grim smile. “These small ones killed our mayor.”

Erem and the young healer stared at Frodo in disbelief.

Barty looked at the hobbits in disgust. “Pralin was dead on the floor in the cell with none but these creatures with him. What else must we assume?”

“At least allow me to examine him,” the young healer said. “If you want him alive by the time you get to Bree, that is.”

Frodo found the voice soothing and kind, and his jaw trembled. His ankle throbbed fiercely again, and his stomach rolled ominously. The pain was going to come back…he could feel it. Soon he would be lying in helpless pain, and these men would laugh. They would think he deserved it.

“I’m rather indifferent,” Barty said. “But we’ll do things proper and let you see to his wound.”

The young man tapped at Frodo’s ankle, and Frodo cried out in surprised pain.

“I’m sorry,” the man said softly. “Did you happen to get a look at the snake that bit you?”

Frodo shook his head, his throat filling. “No,” he managed.

The young man looked into Frodo’s eyes for the first time and seemed shocked by the terror and misery he saw there. “There now, lad, what is it?”

“Please, sir,” Frodo said, clutching his sleeve. “We didn’t do what they accuse us of. Pralin was nothing but kind to us and we would never have - You must believe me. My cousin…he is still a child by the reckoning of our people.”

“I would tend to believe you, but unfortunately, it’s not up to me.” He looked disturbed as he examined Frodo’s swollen ankle.

“Please,” Frodo continued, barely holding back tears. “If you would…please if you could send a message to Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton, in the Shire. Tell him what has happened to us.”

The healer nodded. “I will do that for you.” He squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “The bite on your ankle is not deadly, but you are having an allergic reaction to it. You need treatment or it will eventually become deadly. I have an herbal concoction to help you, if these men will allow me a few more minutes to prepare it.”

Frodo could not answer, so relieved he was that the man had agreed to tell Bilbo where he was.

“He’ll help us,” Merry whispered. “Surely he’ll help us before we reach Bree.” He gazed into Merry’s wide, terrorized eyes and he wished he would do anything to take back the moment in which he had agreed to leave the Shire. His stomach rolled again – the nausea was coming back with new vengeance, and he knew he would soon be of little use to Merry.

“It will be all right,” he whispered to Merry. He curled up the best he could at the bottom of the hard wagon floor. Through the slats of the wagon back, he watched as the healer approached Barty, jabbing his finger in guard’s face. “Are you a greater fool than I always believed? These halflings didn’t kill Pralin.”

Barty let out a scornful laugh, but the healer continued. “They’re just lads, and they’re out of the Shire. What do you suppose they could have done to him? They don’t have weapons and the dark-haired one is weak with snake venom. You’re trying to tell me Pralin couldn’t defend himself against these two if they attacked him?”

“I only know what I saw,” Barty said. “The two of them over his body, and him dead for no reason. Who knows what sort of mischief and dark magic they practice in the Shire? I hear they can disappear at will when Big Folk go into their villages.”

“If that’s true,” The healer said with open scorn. “Then how come they haven’t disappeared yet? At any rate, you’re just going to have to wait a few moments. The halfling needs herbs that I do not have on hand.”

“We are leaving for Bree now.”

The healer stood his ground. “The halfling is having an unnatural reaction to the snakebite. Perhaps it is only because of his size or his kind, but all the same, he must be treated or his health will deteriorate. And you will answer to murder yourself in Bree if you choose to ignore that.”

Barty stepped forward into the healer’s face. “You should know, young healer, that he and his friend will most likely be hung for murder in Bree. Likely enough, it’s a waste of good herbs to cure the snake bite.”

Hearing those dreadful words, Merry let out an anguished cry and clutched Frodo. Frodo squeezed his hand, though there was nothing he had the strength to do.

“You,” the young healer said, and spit flew from his lips in his fury. “You are…the most insensitive rogue…And have a care what you say! They have not stood before a judge yet!”

Barty put his hand on the hilt of his sword and laughed cynically, unaffected by the young healer’s fury. “You act as though they are innocents, cruelly kidnapped by us. What do you think they were doing in jail in the first place? Why did they flee their little country? You are young, healer, and though I have much respect for your craft, I will not stand in judgment before you. Do not be deceived by teary eyes and child-like stature. They are no doubt accustomed to wheedling their way out of such situations.”

Frodo took in a deep, shuddering breath, but tears squeezed out of his eyes instead. This was a nightmare without end. Images assailed him…meeting the Ranger Estel in the forest…being tackled by his cousins in Brandy Hall…the lovely walk with his cousin…his fall down the ravine…jumping on the share-wagon… the Man who had looked at his foot and asked if he had been bit by something…the horrid sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized he had been robbed and had no money to pay the driver…the stench of the jail…Pralin’s kind face…his glazed eyes after his sudden and mysterious death…

“Bilbo,” he called weakly. “Estel…please…”

“It’s all right,” Merry said, rubbing his back. “We’ll get help in Bree. There are hobbits there, good folk. Maybe they’ll help us.”

The healer sighed, trying to control his temper. “Will you not wait just a few moments while I retrieve the herbs I need?”

“No I will not,” Barty said, climbing on the wagon and taking the reins. “If he’s bad off in Bree and the judge demands it, he shall have a healer there.”

Frodo looked at the healer in open gratitude. The healer nodded briefly to Frodo, and Frodo hoped he would not forget that he had promised to find a way to let Bilbo know what had happened. He had to keep such hope alive as he could.

  
By the time the wagon bearing the hobbit prisoners rolled into Bree, Frodo had taken a turn for the worse. His stomach had clenched into wretched cramping, and though he had not eaten in ever so long, it seemed there was always something more to vomit. Merry did nothing, said nothing, but he held his trembling, sweaty cousin, smoothing back his damp curls. Frodo had never been so grateful for anyone’s presence. He could not imagine how much more dreadful this trip would be if he were alone.

“It will be all right, dear,” Merry whispered hoarsely. “I promise. Bilbo will come. You’ll see. That healer was a good man. He’ll get the message to Bilbo. You just have to get well.”

Frodo shivered in Merry’s arms. He had always considered Bilbo larger than life – he had fought giant spiders, goblins, survived Gollum’s lair, and he had seen the battles of men and elves. But now, as Frodo lay miserable and vomiting on the floor of a wagon dragging him to prison and possible death, his elderly cousin diminished to hobbit size. What influence could any hobbit of the Shire hope to have against the law of Bree?

A new thought, so desperately hopeful that it brought a cramp to his heart, assailed him. What if – what if he could beg for the Ranger he had encountered in the woods? Estel must know and be known in Bree. Surely he had been to a village of Men so near the Shire. Perhaps the law in Bree would have mercy enough at least to send out word. It was a dim hope, but one that gave him new strength.

“Merry,” he whispered.

“Hush,” Merry said, rubbing Frodo’s hands. “Just rest. It will be all right.”

“Merry, if I…if I am too unwell to speak when we reach Bree, ask for Estel.”

“Who is Estel?” Merry asked.

A wretched ripping pain gripped his ankle, and he yelped, writhing in Merry’s arms.

“Keep him quiet, you hear?” The driver yelled. “I ain’t listening to that all the way to Bree!”

“He’s in pain!” Merry cried back, more fearful of Frodo’s health than of any consequence of yelling at the surly Man. “Can’t someone do something?”

“Not for a couple of murderers, we won’t. You’re gonna die anyways.” The driver laughed roughly. “I’ll be more than happy to see you hang, too.”

Frodo could barely hear the driver’s cruel words. He shuddered in Merry’s arms as the pain built in intensity, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Rest, Frodo.” Merry wiped his face, keeping his curls out of his eyes. “We’re almost there.”

Soon Frodo found himself looking forward to the hanging. He hoped it was swift, as soon as they reached the village. The law of Bree could not do it soon enough. He hoped they might spare his young cousin, but for himself, he was glad it would all be over soon.

  
***

The walk -- no, the awkward *stumbling* -- into the jailhouse caused such agony in Frodo’s foot that he vomited several times on himself, but his clothing was spared, as this time nothing came out. He had finally reached the point of dry heaves, which convulsed through him, wracking his belly. Through the fear he saw on Merry’s face, the younger hobbit no doubt perceived the spasms as much more ominous signs of poisoning, and Frodo was too weak to tell him otherwise.

The lawman was a lean, rangy man with a missing front tooth.

“What business do you got with hobbits? If they’re trouble, send them down to Staddle.”

“These are murderers. Murdered the mayor of Tillwood, they did. In cold blood.”

Frodo saw the world through a gray, shifting haze. Merry supported him around the waist so that he need not put weight on his swollen foot.

“What ails that one there?” the lawman asked, glancing at Frodo.

“Snake bite or some sort of nonsense. Don’t matter none since you’re sure to hang them anyways.”

“So what say you to all this?” the lawman asked Frodo and Merry.

“It’s a lie,” Merry said. His eyes flashed, and Frodo was so proud of the strength in his voice. “Their mayor was the only one in that horrid little village who was kind to us. Frodo – that’s my cousin here – was bit by a poison snake and nobody’s treated him. He’s going to die—“ Merry’s voice cracked here at this last utterance. “He’ll die if he’s not given proper medicine.”

“We’ll have someone look at him,” the lawman said. “But first answer up. How did this mayor die if you didn’t kill him?”

Merry’s voice dropped. “Sir, we don’t know. But you can’t think we’d possibly kill him. We had no weapons.”

“Please,” Frodo said, though his voice sounded very far away. “My cousin is only nineteen—“

The lawman shook his head, looking at Barty with a smirk on his face. Frodo noticed a cold gleam in his eyes. This lawman did not look the type that anyone would wish to cross.

“Have you come to waste my time? These are simple halflings from the Shire – children by the reckoning of their own kind – and you speak of murder?”

Barty stood up tall, his eyes narrowing in a stubborn manner. “These halflings were in prison already for robbing a transport driver.” He laughed sharply. “I knew Pralon Appleby, the mayor of Tillwood, well, and I know he had too soft a heart for his own good. He probably went in their cell to treat this ill one personally, and next thing we know, he’s dead.”

Frodo’s cheeks heated at being first called “simple” and next being accused of robbing the transport driver.

“Who was this transport driver?” The lawman asked. “What was his name?”

“Kily Holly.”

The lawman laughed, and it was a rough, cynical sound, no humor to it at all. Frodo was only glad that the lawman seemed more intent on challenging Barty and not he and Merry. “Kily is the biggest thief this side of Bree. Likely, he robbed the halflings himself and then put the blame on them. He’s been in a Bree jail more times than I can count.”

“Whatever the case, it still don’t take from the point that these halflings were in the same cell as Appleby when he died.”

The lawman suddenly turned his attention to Merry. “Let your friend sit down. He’s real sick, ain’t he?”

Merry helped Frodo sink down onto a stool. The stool was hard and had no back, but at least he was off his foot, which throbbed horrifically.

“Now then,” the lawman continued, but his voice sounded more gentle. “How old are you again, lad?”

“Nineteen,” Merry said.

“Can you tell me just what happened?”

Then Merry related to the lawman all that had passed since they had left the Shire. Frodo began to shiver during the tale. He felt so far from Bilbo and his cozy home in Bag End.

A second lawman ran in, out of breath.

“Pardon me, Tom,” he said. “But there’s one of them Rangers outside. He’s bent on talkin’ to you, though I tried to get him to go away. He’s asking about the halflings. I don’t know how he knew about them, but he does. I guess all of Bree does by now.”

Frodo’s heart swelled, and for a moment, the pain faded, and his ears rang with music. Estel had come for him!

The lawman paled. “How do they know?”

“Apparently he caught wind of it and followed the wagon. He’s here now.”

Barty looked awfully uncomfortable. He looked from side to side. “I think I had better take my leave—“

Frodo heard heavy footfalls, and then Estel was standing before them, looking rugged and stern and yet it was the friendliest face Frodo had ever seen. With a cry, Frodo jumped from his stool, and pain forgotten he leaped to embrace the Man. “Estel, Estel, you came!”

Estel knelt and let the hobbit embrace him properly.

“Have you been ill-treated?” Estel asked, pulling back so that he could hold Frodo’s face in his hands, gazing at him with deep concern. “You do not look well.”

“He has suffered a snake bite,” the lawman said quietly.

“Please,” Merry said. “Would you not help him?”

Estel turned to the lawman in a fury. “He has suffered a snake bite and yet you waste time questioning these hobbits instead of getting medicine for him. I would see you strung up and hung if serious harm befalls this one.”

“He is not to blame so much as he,” Merry said with sudden vehemence, pointing to a very frightened Barty.

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” Barty said. “There are no charges against these halflings. We only brought them here for healing.” He looked flustered, and Frodo took mean satisfaction that now he was receiving a taste of his own medicine.

Estel released Frodo and stood to his full height. Barty took several more steps backwards.

Estel’s voice was low and dangerous, and Frodo found himself shivering in awe. “It is my understanding that you refused to allow a healer in Tillwood to treat this halfling. It is my understanding that should any harm befall this halfling that you would be to blame. And furthermore, there has been evidence found of poison in the tea served by you that was drunk by Pralon Appleby just before he went into the cell where these halflings were being held. What say you to that?”

“It’s a lie!” Barty yelled. “You can’t know any of it. It’s these halflings. They’re nothing but a curse. They’ve cursed our village—It was they that put the mushroom slices in the tea--“ He stopped himself suddenly, and his cheeks turned bright red.

“I said nothing of poison mushrooms,” Estel said with a satisfied smile. “Though you would know best, of course.” He nodded to Tom the lawman. “Arrest this man.” Tom smiled gleefully. “Take him out of my sight lest I shed blood that I shall not regret.”

Frodo was barely aware of anything in his surroundings. The room had dimmed to a deep gray, and it was a joyful dimming, full of pain, yet it was all right because Estel had come and this dreadful nightmare was at last coming to an end. At least now he could rest in peace, knowing that he had not inadvertently caused Pralon Appleby’s death.

Estel was speaking to him now, but his voice came out in slow motion, from a great distance. Frodo had the sensation of being lifted in strong but gentle arms. No more harm would come to him now, he was certain.

He heard his own voice murmuring, “Estel…Estel…”

“It is all right,” Estel’s warm voice, so gentle now, spoke in his ear. “I shall take you to the healer’s cottage.”

***

At the healer’s cottage, an old cheery man came out to greet them. “Estel,” he said with a pleasant smile. His face turned to that of concern when he saw Estel’s burden.

“I’ve a hurt hobbit,” Estel said. “Snake bite.”

“Oh, oh, dear,” the old man said. “Take him inside.” As they entered the cottage, the man continued. “Lay him down on the bed. Let us take a look at it.”

“Do you have kingsfoil?” Estel asked. “Athelas?”

“We have some in low supply. I will fetch you some.”

Frodo clenched his jaw, letting in a pained hiss as Estel cleaned the wound with a soft cloth soaked in warm water. He wanted to kick, but he forced himself to remain very still. Kicking would only send rivers of pain up his leg. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he bit the inside of his cheeks so hard that he tasted blood. Merry hovered nearby, careful not to get in the way. His face was strained and pale.

“There now,” Estel said. “Nearly done.”

The healer bustled back into the room with some crushed athelas leaves, and Estel mashed them into the wet cloth. He then wiped them over the wound, singing softly to himself.

“Is that Elvish?” Frodo asked with a strained smile.

“Yes, Frodo,” Strider said. “It is a song my mother sang to me often.” In answer to the puzzled frown on Frodo’s face, Strider shook his head. “Nay, she was not Elvish, but she spoke the language and made certain that I knew it as well.”

Frodo nodded. “Like Bilbo…” His heart suddenly contracted as he thought about how worried Bilbo would be if he did not come home soon. He clasped Estel’s hand. “Will you tell him?”

Estel nodded. “I will send a message to him at once. Do not fear. You will be home soon.” His face relaxed and his smile softened the hard gleam in his gray eyes.

Frodo released a large sigh of relief. The pain, easily subdued by the athelas, faded into the background.

Estel wrapped Frodo’s foot in a soft cloth. “There is no poison in your wound, Frodo, and that is very good news. You’ve had merely a strange response to a normal snakebite, made worse by your small size. It will run its course soon and you will be mended. Already it is less swollen.”

Estel pushed another pillow under Frodo’s foot.

“No poison,” Merry said in relief, collapsing into a chair in the corner. Frodo watched him through heavy eyelids and his heart filled with fondness for his young cousin. He would have to do something dear and special for him when they returned to the Shire. Perhaps Bilbo would know what to do.

Estel put another wet cloth over Frodo’s brow. “There,” he said. “This should feel better.” Frodo closed his eyes, suddenly feeling sleepy. He had barely slept in days -- not since his last night in Brandy Hall, that is.

“Poor Pippin,” Frodo muttered as his eyes closed. “He will be so sorry he missed out.”

***

“Will you not stay for tea at least?”

Estel filled up the round door to Bag End. He had to bend over to peek inside, which made Frodo feel terribly small. The Ranger smiled, but shook his head.

“Dear Bilbo, I wish I could, but I am already delayed.”

“I am dreadfully sorry,” Frodo said, running to him and clutching his hand. “It is my fault entirely that you are delayed—“

“Nonsense,” Estel said. “It was one of my greatest pleasures to take you home, my dear friend of the Shire. I am only glad you are safe.”

Bilbo chuckled, though a worried pucker creased his brow. “You got to ride on a big horse. And you’ve been to Bree.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I wish I’d known his danger. Frodo, my lad, I should punish you for straying and putting yourself into danger, not to mention the life of your cousin…But you were both old enough to have purpose in what you did. Did you find what you sought?”

Frodo nodded. “More than enough, Uncle. I do not think I shall want another adventure any time soon.”

Bilbo and Estel laughed.

“You’re a Baggins,” Bilbo said, clapping his shoulder. “And there’s no telling what a Baggins will do.”

  
END


End file.
